The Euphoria of Family
by Pandasushiroll
Summary: Sometimes he just said all the wrong things. But this is exactly why a pregnant lady should never travel with a superhero. (For all intents and purposes let's call it; the pregnancy diary of Amy Pond.) Eleven/Pregnant!Amy. Fluffy marshmallow goodness ahead!
1. Wibbly Wobbly Baby-Waby!

_Hullo! I have returned with this brand new story! Finally all settled in and back on my writing feet! As an update I am LITERALLY about to finish up the 4th chapter of Chores and Troubles I swear. Please don't throw things at me . ._

_This concept came from a few conversations with a couple of my friends and mostly from a craving I had for more of Pregnant Amy and Eleven! This is my first official Who story, and I will tell you that it is definitely different from my usual work. First of all I spent WAY more time editing and rewriting this and I put a brain melting amount of thought into how I wanted to write it._

_This story's got lots of squishy fluff, just a pinch of drama, and buckets of humor! This story is also dedicated to my lovely friend Tory :3 thank you for your boundless patience at my hair pulling obsession with getting this story posted!_

_As always, I do not own Doctor Who or any of the characters in this story (except for Mini Pond, but we'll get there)._

_Anyway, feedback on this one would be highly, highly appreciated because I want to know how I did and if anyone has any input on where they'd like the story to go from here, please don't be afraid to review! Reviews always make my day~_

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The Euphoria of Family

Sometimes he just said all the wrong things. But this is exactly why a superhero should never travel with a pregnant lady.

xXx

"How much did you _eat_?"

"The normal amount!"

"Do you mean the hormonal normal amount or the actual normal amount?"

Amy glowered up at him from her spot on the bathroom floor, too miserable to put any real heat behind it. Her knuckles were almost blending in with the white porcelain rim of the toilet bowl. "I mean the normal amount."

The Doctor scrunched his nose. She was only being saucy because she was tired of the relentless nausea seizing her insides. He couldn't really blame her. But that wasn't the real question he wanted to ask. He had been idling around the real question, the real drive behind his restlessness, the real worry that would complicate this whole adventure, for a few days now. "So…you have the flu then?"

When it came down to it, Amy realized, the Doctor—the man known as The Destroyer of Worlds, The Oncoming Storm, The Savior—was downright terrified. He wasn't ready for this. This whole…situation. He wasn't ready to ask the question that was obviously causing him so much stress. But even more than _that_ he was obviously afraid of what Amy Pond might say if he asked her that one enormous question.

_Are you pregnant?_

There was a quiet moment where he could see the wheels turning in that clever red head of hers, where she realized his dilemma, his fear. And bless her. Bless the magnificent, gracious Amy Pond. Because entirely for him she said: "Yeah. Probably."

xXx

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Are you positive?"

"It says so right here." She brandished the unyielding little pink test with a look he didn't recognize.

There was a pregnant pause.

The walls gave a low buzz of uneasiness at the silence. Clearly the spaceship wasn't feeling comfortable either.

Uncertainty coiled in a tight spiral behind the untamed blue of his eyes as they frantically searched for an explanation on the ceiling, then on the surrounding walls, walls that were beginning to feel like a prison cell. His gaze finally fell to his feet. Nope. No answer there either. "Right." He said suddenly, drawing his companion's confused gaze.

An auburn brow arched: a silent question in those perfect green eyes of hers. Another few moments of silence passed, the Doctor adjusting his suddenly too tight bowtie, with Amy staring at him forlornly.

"Right," he said again, slapping both of his knees and straightening. He cleared his throat. "You're sure you've done it correctly?"

A scowl was the only answer he got for that question, but it was made severely less menacing when she pouted those strawberry pink lips. "It's not exactly hard to pee on a stick, you know."

The Doctor sighed heavily, dragging a hand up and down his face several times. "You'd be surprised, Pond. You really would."

xXx

Amy Pond did not have the flu.

There was no freaking way.

"Doctor," she called. It was really time for them to talk. Whether he wanted to or not. (It wasn't like it was really _his _decision to not talk about anyway.)

She found him in the control room, underneath the console tinkering with a rainbow assortment of wires. The TARDIS was humming idly to fill in the silence of Amy watching the Doctor work, jerking wires out of place, beaming the screwdriver in empty spaces. It was all rather monotonous and routine.

Absently, she flicked a harmless looking switch with one lavender fingernail, wincing when the Doctor suddenly shouted, "Yowzah!" A small pause as she waited, expecting him to scold any second. "Pond! Whatever you're doing, whatever you're planning, whatever you're thinking about touching, DON'T." Well, that was definitely more than he had said to her these past three days. She tried ignoring the nagging tug in the back of her mind, the little voice squeaking how bad of an idea this was. But soon, all too soon maybe, Amy could have sworn she felt amusement in the air as she nudged the impossible man with one baby blue Converse. When he only grunted, his usual dismissive "not-now-Pond" noise, she frowned and spoke up.

"Doctor, we need to talk."

"Do we now?" He didn't sound very convinced. In fact, if anything he sounded slightly annoyed.

Amy eyed him warily, "Yes, we do. And you know we do."

He didn't respond.

"Please don't make this difficult."

It wasn't like she was excited about the whole situation, but did he have to act so…reluctant? Would it really be so bad if she turned out to be carrying his child? Isn't it a miracle of some kind? He wasn't the last of his kind any longer!

Apparently the TARDIS could sense her distress because a swift electrical current zipped through one of the lines he was working on and gave him a deliberate shock that left a good portion of his arm numb. He jerked underneath the console, muttering something about the ship being cheeky and slid out vigorously shaking one of his hands. "All right. All right. What is it, Pond?"

Amy crossed her arms. She was getting real fed up with his whole attitude. "Not that you seem particularly interested, but I'm pregnant and everything. So I thought you should know that your fish still swim."

Something she didn't recognize flitted across the backdrop of blue in his eyes. They flashed with a mixture of hurt and anger, and she suddenly found herself confused all over again.

"I don't understand," She huffed, throwing her arms down at her sides. "You're always on about how you're all alone. But things have changed now. I don't really understand _how or why. _But the point is, it's happening. It might actually work and- you don't have to be alone anymore."

"Amy that's what you don't understand. It is not _physically possible _for you to be pregnant with my…my-" He was having as much trouble explaining himself as she was having trouble understanding him. "My 'fish' _shouldn't _be swimming for your-" Okay bad analogy. Now he felt like he was giving her 'The Talk'. "There are chains of DNA that should cancel out-or at least not interact in a way that would create-" He gestured hurriedly toward her person. She felt his uncertainty began unfurling within her, a thick fear creeping under her skin.

The Doctor saw this and immediately stood to comfort her, tracing his hands up and down her arms. "Look, I would love nothing more for_ you_, of all humans to…you know. Be the one that I could-" He caught himself when those green eyes began to reflect a shimmer of hope, but pressed on. "_If _I could. But I can't. It's just-it's just **not **_possible_. We aren't biologically compatible. I have no idea what my DNA will do to your body. It may do nothing, it may completely change you. You could be changing right this instant," A rough pull through his hair, he looked ready to burst, brimming with nervous energy. "I should have never-_we should have never…_"

"Doctor!" She could have slapped him with the abrupt amount of fury clutching her in that moment. This horrible bitter feeling replaced all forms of the fear and uncertainty rolling off both of them in waves. She knew in that moment that she wanted nothing more than exactly this. Exactly the sense of having the essence of him and her mixing together to create something new. Her hand connected with his cheek before she could stop herself. She was just_ so_ angry. "If you're just going to stand there scolding me, then take me home! Take me home right now and I'll deal with it myself!"

His cheek barely stung despite the force behind the blow. He knew what he should do. "Amy," His voice was stern, partly disappointed. She looked ready to cry, but he knew she wasn't going to. Not in front of him at least. Her petite body was leaning back slightly, on the defensive. He repeated her name again, "Amy."

"I'm not afraid," She nearly whispered. "I've been on my own before."

The Doctor knew all the things he could, and probably should, say right now, to convince her how wrong this whole situation was. How it wasn't possible. But she was so bloody stubborn and foolish and _brilliant_.

"Amy," he sighed, trailing a hand up to stroke her cheek with his thumb. "You terrible, awful, magnificent ginger." He leaned forward to place a kiss on her stunned forehead. "You are going to be the end of me one of these days."

IV._Several months later…_

"Here we are, Pond! Right here on the plant Volcania."

Amy was in the middle of slowly edging herself out of the safety of the TARDIS. She paused at the planet's name. "Uh. I'm sorry. Did I just hear volcano in the title? You brought me and your unborn child to a planet with a bloody _volcano _on it?"

The Doctor was waiting patiently for her to push the rest of herself through that small doorway, eyeing the gap skeptically. But he had enough sense to ease the rising tension in her shoulders, "Oh don't worry. It's like that clever Iceland and Greenland trick. The Volcanians came up with the title to deter conquerors. There's nothing to fear."

"What about us then? They won't think _we're _conquerors?"

His chuckle drew her brows together. "I hardly think a conqueror would bring his pregnant…" The Doctor trailed off as he thought of what to call her. Was she still merely his companion? She was carrying his child, for Volcania's sake. So didn't that make her more? Logically, it probably _should_. It was only fair and—oh who was he kidding? He was enchanted by Amelia Pond the moment he knew her name. He snapped himself out of his mental contemplation and continued, "Regardless, I can't imagine conquering a planet would go over very well with a pregnant lady there. I mean she'd be _huge_."

Amy pretended not to hear that last bit. "But is there really a volcano around here?"

Her question might as well have been a leaf caught up in the breeze sweeping across her shoulders just then because he was already enraptured in his usual lecture. She was suddenly faced with his tweed covered back, watching him gesture eagerly across the broad landscape.

The area ahead was a vast stretch of a beach that spanned on for miles, the sand was a perfect eggshell white and lush beneath them. It gave enough to comfort Amy's sore feet but held firm enough to give them support. It was a lot like walking on pillows. A steady breeze drifted back and forth over and around them, bringing with it the kind smell of sunshine. Waves lapped gingerly against the shore, carrying assortments of delicate shells and flowers from the great below. All and all it seemed like a good spot for a space resort.

"…and here in Merciel they have the most amazing—"

Of course the planet would be a whole lot more amazing if—

"Doctor!"

"What?" He turned toward her again, slumping his shoulders. "Oh." The Doctor took in the sight of his beloved companion stuck in the recently narrowed space of the front door of the TARDIS and shook his head fondly. This was a normal occurrence, as lately this puffy version of Amy, was constantly getting stuck in all sorts of spaces, no matter how many adjustments the ship made for her.

"I can't help it!" She was pouting, her button nose wrinkled in pregnant fury. "This is your fault you know."

He could feel a swell of amusement as the laughter of the TARDIS washed over him. But as adorable as Amy was, caught in the front door that she had previously pranced in and out of so many times, the TARDIS finally put the poor puffy girl out of her misery and clicked a second door open to accommodate her.

"You really are getting quite large aren't you?"

The look she gave him just then would have frightened his worst enemies.

"Er. Right. The great thing about it—" He was suddenly talking with vigor, much faster than his usual pace—which was pretty damn fast, even on his best lecturing day.

Amy was waddling passed him now, going straight for the nearest place to sit. She decided on a conveniently placed bench toward the shore's edge. Her slow swaying steps got her to her destination just as the Doctor mentioned something spectacular about the sky. "Wait, what was that bit about the sky?"

He plopped himself down next to her while motioning enthusiastically skyward. "On this planet the sky and the ocean are switched!"

Amy's face scrunched endearingly. She was skeptical more because of the pregnancy fatigue rather than the lack of belief in his words. "What, like Atlantis or something?"

"Well, sort of." His eyes shifted upward.

With a bellow, a creature that more or less resembled a humpback whale swam sluggishly by overhead, casting a large shadow as it went over the two. Amy caught herself staring with her mouth hanging open. Whatever she had been expecting, it certainly wasn't _that_.

"Nifty. Isn't it?"

Amy laughed; a warm and welcome sound. "It's beautiful!"

A grin slid across the Doctor's lips easily, eyes tracking the soft curve of her lips when she giggled at a nearby jellyfish, also swimming leisurely by off to the left. "Absolutely. Absolutely gorgeous," he said.

"Right. So you can say the sky is gorgeous but when you look at me—" She turned to eye him sternly, expecting to catch him by surprise, off-guard even. But she turned only to find him staring at her with a sense of fulfillment. Her lips were turning up in response before the thought to smile even registered in her mind. And with a pat to his knee with one hand, the other resting tenderly on the swell of her belly, she said, "All right. You're forgiven."

The Doctor chuckled, scooting impossibly closer until she was snuggly against him with an arm wrapped protectively across her lower back. "You really are a gorgeous sight, Pond."

"Yeah, yeah I know. Gorgeous and ginger." She tilted her head to rest it comfortably on his shoulder.

He pressed a loving kiss to the side of her head and murmured, "The ultimate ginger."

V.

Beds were starting to feel criminally comfortable now that Amy had gotten all swollen. Her head had just hit the pillow when the Doctor climbed into their shared, recently modified bed. (She had never been so thankful for the TARDIS's stealthy upgrades). Which had been transformed into a king-sized array of clouds and comfort and perfection. She was often tempted to spend the entire day in that magnificent bed, but the constant hunger and frequent bathroom trips kept her on her feet. Her sore, swollen, fuzzy sock-clad feet. (She had found them on her bedside table one morning, another gift from the ever watchful TARDIS, no doubt.)

"Hello puffy version of my Amelia Pond."

Amy fixed him with one of her "I love you, but you're an idiot" stares. He was receiving that look more and more lately. "What?" He kissed her cheek sweetly, but she still held that same "you're stupid" face afterward.

A bundle of wrinkles appeared on his forehead when his brow furrowed. "Pond?"

She closed her weary green eyes and gave him the same kind of sigh a tired mother would give her silly little child.

He pictured her giving the same sigh to the bundle riding along in her tummy and couldn't stop himself from smiling so widely it was sure to split his face in half. He was careful to hide the smile as quickly as he could when she looked at him again. "_Your_ version of sweet talk just reminds me of how unsexy and enormous I'm becoming."

"Are you kidding? You've only gotten…you know," The Doctor made a few gestures towered her person that Amy couldn't hope to decipher, nose crinkling in distaste. Eventually, when she continued giving him that dumbfounded "please-shut-up" look, he resigned to reusing her earlier words. "You've only gotten sexier now that you're rounding out."

She tried focusing the sudden surge of annoyance on the wall ahead of her instead of the on the man next to her who was definitely _not _making her feel any better. It wasn't his fault. Well, okay maybe it was his fault, but he was the Doctor and he wasn't aware of half the offensive thingshe said to people. Or aliens.

At her deep frown he began to panic. "I mean—you're even more sexy simply because there's so much _more _of you!" He paused, aware that something about that sentence simply wasn't right. "Wait. No. Um."

Amy could have face palmed in that moment. She really could have. Maybe this was just her life now, travelling with a time travelling alien, being pregnant with the second to last Time Lord in existence, and being unintentionally insulted by said man-alien she was only growing fonder of each passing day. She sighed again in resignation.

"No! Wait—Pond. It's…it's like this—when I see you all…well, huge, it just makes me want you more because on some silly primal level I like knowing I did that—No. _We_ did that. Me, the Doctor, the last of his kind and you, Amelia Pond, The-Girl-Who-Waited. We made something," His eyes fell on the rise of her stomach. One of her hands was resting there, so he gently slid one of his own up the side of her belly to twine their fingers together. Their eyes met as their fingers did. "…beautiful."

Despite all the things they had done together, from meeting Churchill to Van Gogh, to Venice and vampires, to the walking lizards underground, to the hushed intimacy against the console (not the most romantic of spots but it got the job done), Amy found herself blushing a dusty pink. Which was silly really. She was pregnant, for heaven's sake! She shouldn't be so easily stirred by such gooey sweet words. "What I mean to say is that no matter how huge you get," he gave her a little grin, a grin that made her baby filled tummy flip-flop, "you'll always be my brilliant, _magnificent _Amelia Pond."

He lifted their joined hands to kiss the back of hers. Then he kissed her forehead, then her nose, then each cheek and then—and then Amy got impatient and threaded her free hand through his hair to finally bring him in for a proper kiss.

VI.

"Doctor! Doctor get in here right now!"

He nearly tripped over himself in his haste to enter the room.

"Pond! What is it? Where are you? Do you feel sick? Should we land? Are you hungry? Are you in labor? Is something broken? Whatever you do—DON'T PANIC." For a man named the Doctor he really didn't know a thing about the medical mechanics of pregnancy.

"Calm down. Calm down, it's nothing like that."

He visibly slumped in relief.

Amy couldn't help smiling at his jumpiness. The man had saved hundreds of planets, over millions of aliens, and yet at the first sign of trouble with a _human _ pregnant lady he was a complete mess.

"Come here," she beckoned him when he got done rearranging the mischievous bunch of toys safely out of the way.

She looked giddy. With that sort of…tell-tale glow pregnant women were rumored to have when they weren't cranky or hormonal. Or both. That made him cautious as he sat down on the edge of the bed with her.

Amy Pond's grin was probably the most contagious thing the Doctor had ever seen. He returned the expression easily.

She took one of his hands in both of hers and placed it front and center on her great big tummy. "I discovered this today. He's quite clever, probably because of his Scottish side, he can hear when you tap on him or talk to him. It's like playing a game! Say hello!"

The Doctor paused, both brows hitched up. "She can hear me?"

It was a discreet argument that had been going on for weeks since Amy had begun visibly expanding. _She _wanted a boy that she had absolutely no idea how to handle raising a girl. _He,_ on the other hand, wanted a girl on the testament that boys were nothing but trouble.

"Yes, he can hear you."

The Doctor pretended not to hear Amy's gender input claim.

Regardless, he hopped up, with all the enthusiasm he always had, and then abruptly knelt down in front of her again. It looked rather weird, but Amy wrote it off as his usual over excitement. The kind that made him pace one way, then the other, then back the other way again.

He gave her a grin, hands now cradling both sides of the bundle of part Amy Pond part himself, and entirely theirs.

"Hello there Mini Pond. The Doctor here. How are things in there?" Then he waited, eagerly leaning forward. Amy rolled her eyes with a fond smile. _Of course _he wouldwant a status report from inside the tummy of Pond. Definitely not a normal bloke.

First, they felt one gentle kick. Then another. Then another. Three kicks! Three whole kicks! "That's fantastic!" He said.

When the Doctor gave her an affectionate grin, Amy knew she would give anything to see that expression on him more often, their tiny baby bundle agreed with another excited little kick. The Doctor looked up at the magnificent woman in front of him, the woman he loved. Irrevocably and unequivocally. He wasn't sure _how _they got to this impossible place, but the moment he felt a final kick of farewell, he knew he didn't care.

He kissed her tummy with a flourish, praising the Mini Pond still growing inside. Then he lifted himself to kiss her lips, brief and soft, took both her hands in both of his, and pulled her up along with him as he stood. "Come along Ponds, both of you. There are still a few adventures to be had!"

VII.

They weren't kidding when they said there would be some major changes to her body. Amy squinted at herself in the mirror. "Hm. Must be my imagination?" She took a step back to see if the distance helped. It didn't. So she turned to the side. "Yep. They've definitely gotten bigger."

The Doctor was tinkering away, as usual, at the TARDIS console. Right side up this time. Throwing levers, twisting knobs, pressing buttons. Something Amy was beginning to think he did to distract himself from the whole "somehow-got-his-companion-pregnant-even-though-we -shouldn't-be-bio-compatitible-or-something" situation.

At least he perked up when he heard her descending the staircase.

"There you are, Pond! It's about time you got down here. I was thinking we could go to the—" He stopped short when she reached his side. He was staring at her as if something was wrong. (Or maybe something was very, very right. But perhaps that was just some wishful thinking on her part.) It sort of made her feel self-conscious. Well, self-conscious for Amelia Pond.

"What?" She glanced down at herself, namely her chest. "Is it the breasts?"

Which wasn't very self-conscious at all, especially in a tight, low-cut jumper and a short skirt.

The Doctor did a double take, eyes very nearly bulging out of his head. Ah, so he _was_ just like every other bloke after all. She was starting to think he was immune. "Well yes. No! No, no, no. Pond! How could you think I would be staring at your—I would never! I was only caught off guard by the sheer size—er. No. Wait. Hang on. My eyes just naturally fell there and—"

"Relax Raggedy Man. I was only teasing you." The smirk she gave him would have made a nun uncomfortable.

His uneasiness was becoming increasingly apparent, like she might as well have had made the "I'm pregnant" announcement all over again. The TARDIS clearly shared the same opinion, if the melodious series of beeps at her elbow was anything to go by.

Another reach to drag a hand through his floppy brown hair, then drag that hand down his face, and finally down to adjust his bowtie, saving some semblance of dignity. Amy gave him one of those clichéd condolence pats on the shoulder.

"It's all right you know. It's not like you haven't seen them before. In fact if you want…" Her voice dipped into a low purr. "I could always let you take a closer look." She punctuated the sentence with a suggestively raised eyebrow and a tilt forward to give him a clean view of her cleavage.

He looked horrified at the sultry suggestion, trying his best—and failing to keep his gaze trained on her eyes and **not** her breasts, no matter how inviting they looked. He leaned away from her, as if the distance would solve the problem. It didn't.

But if the Doctor was one thing, he was good at avoiding uncomfortable situations. Sort of. "Uh. No thank you. I think I'll just take us to that constellation over to the left there instead."

How he had managed to sidle past her without any physical contact was truly puzzling, considering Amy was putting forth her most valiant efforts to push herself against him.

He practically sprinted to get to the other side of the console, putting a TARDIS barrier between them, and began throwing switches and pulling levers as if his life depended on it. Amy, now properly disgruntled, crossed her arms and gave a little huff, which unbeknownst to her, only served as even more of a distraction for her self-proclaimed gentleman of a companion.

With her arms crossed like that, her breasts pressed together, which was distraction enough, but with that harsh exhale of air—

Well, he would only admit to being _slightly_ distracted. And that was that. He wasn't really bothered. He wasn't desperately trying to keep his hands to himself. He wasn't fighting the urge to lift her by those angular hips and snog her until next Tuesday. And he was most definitely **not** aroused.

Definitely. Not. Thinking. About. Amy.

(He could picture it now;_ her body, flush against his…)_

In. That. Way.

(_Those pretty pink lips whimpering his name…)_

Nope.

(_"Doctor!")_

His head was hanging by the time Amy gave up her escapade and fell gracelessly into the jump seat, stretching those long legs out to their full length.

The Doctor wasn't going to lie to himself (for once); the idea of those legs folded around his waist sounded very, _very_ pleasant. He gripped the accelerator a little harder than necessary.

_Blimey._

VIII.

Amy was squirming in her sleep again. The Doctor had been told countless times that having weird dreams was a normal occurrence at this stage. That little faucet of information, no matter how many times he heard it, did nothing to ease his hyperactive nerves.

His beloved, puffy companion was lying on her left side, the proper side for a pregnant woman, mind you, facing toward him. She occasionally wiggled around, her usual sign of a whimsical dream. Her dreams always turned out to be extremely bizarre when she told him of the events over breakfast in bed the following morning (a tradition he had started once her feet had swollen up).

Curls tumbled in waves onto her ultra-fluffy down pillow and spilled over onto their cotton comforter. The Doctor was keeping himself entertained, and his mild jealousy at bay by twisting a red curl about one of his fingers and watching the ringlet slowly uncurl again. _Always wanted to be a ginger, but alas, I'll have to settle with Amy's hair instead._ He was content to spend the rest of the night that way.

That was until Amy started mumbling half phrases in her sleep. He pressed his lips to the top of her head, catching the faint scent of her shampoo. She _would_ have to use fruit scented shampoo wouldn't she? It was mighty distracting, (almost as distracting as when her body first began changing). _Smells like a fruit salad. Didn't know they made that scent for hair products. Not that it makes any bloody sense. Who goes about putting fruit in their hair? Especially enough to make an entire salad! _The sight of her button nose wrinkling drew him from his train of thought.

He tucked an auburn strand of hair, behind her pale ear. He leaned forward briefly to murmur against the soft spot of her cheek, "Don't fret Amelia. It's only a dream. That giant wheel of pepper jack isn't going to take over." She was always dreaming about that pesky cheese wheel.

Another entertaining fact about Amelia Pond: she could carry on a small conversation in her sleep.

"Doctor," she called quietly. He tilted his head back to look at her face.

"Hm?"

"I'm…worried."

The Doctor reveled in these peaceful moments—no rush to save the day, his companion safely tucked away in bed. He ran a hand through her hair again, admiring the cascade of red curls as he rubbed soothing circles against her temples. "What's troubling you?"

It was a sort of therapy, this night time talk. A part of him wondered if this was Amy's subconscious reaching out to offer him the small comfort of feeling needed. Any time he expressed this idea to The TARDIS only sent him loving waves of sympathy. The same way a mother shook her head knowingly at her silly little child.

Amy gave him the most adorable yawn. "Am I really right for all this?"

The Doctor paused; That question had actually stunned him. "Amy Pond. Amelia. Are you kidding me? I mean, blimey," he said with a laugh. "You're wonderful! How could you think you're not fit to be a mother?"

"…wouldn't you prefer someone more alien-y?"

His chuckle was low and reassuring. "No I wouldn't."

"How come?" She seemed a bit closer to consciousness now, her brow delicately furrowed.

"In the words of Ernest Hemingway, I'll tell you why puffy version of my Amelia Pond. It's because I'm with you. And no matter what else you have in your clever little head, I'm with you and I love you."

Her eyes fluttered open, sleepily surprised. She blinked up at him, eyes a bit glassy. He stared sincerely right back at her.

He ran the back of two fingers across her cheek, catching a stray tear as it sprang free from the rest of the growing well of water threatening to spill over. Amy Pond crying was something the Doctor actively tried to avoid. It did strange and painful things to both his hearts. Crushed them really. Unfortunately, with her hormones all out of whack, he was slowly growing accustomed to the sight.

"What's wrong, Pond?"

And then she did something he didn't expect. (She was always doing that, surprising him, proving him wrong, besting him in every human way she could.)

She laughed. A tearful but otherwise happy sound. "You said that you love me."

His forehead creased in confusion. "Well of course I do. Isn't it obvious?"

"You've just never…" A sniffle. Never a good sign. Sniffles always came right before the onslaught of tears. Predictably, he was right. "You've never said it to me before." She was absently wiping at the little buds of water before they fell to join the streams trailing down her cheeks, cursing the fluctuation of hormones.

Now he was just plain stumped.

Surely among all the…the intimate stuff, the scrambling about the TARDIS kitchen for midnight snacks, _surely_ he must have said it to her at least once for reassurance. He had thought it plenty. So why hadn't he thought to say it out loud to her?

_What is wrong with you?_ He could feel the TARDIS' judgment creeping over him like tar incessantly crawling across the sidewalk. (Or like a supportive girlfriend, glaring at the stupid boy who made one of her friends cry. Either way, it was all too dramatic for his liking.)

"Er. I've never said it to you before just now? No. Surely I must have. I'm positive. I've said it."

"Just now you have, yeah."

"Mmm no, I'm pretty sure I've said it before this instance."

"Not to my knowledge you haven't." She was giving him that sassy "I-know-best" look. Which pregnancy enhanced tenfold.

"What? No, no, no. The first time can't be when you were half asleep. I'll fix this—" The Doctor shuffled about on the bed, jarring her from her comfy spot. She gave him her best wilting frown at the adjustment.

"Come here," he said finally, scooping her up into his arms to lay her where he pleased. She now lay pressed next to him, and as he settled back against the bed, Amy set her warm cheek on his chest. "Now listen carefully, Pond, because I'll be repeating it a lot after this."

A pause for dramatic effect.

"I love you."

She giggled. "The way you said it before was quite nice."

"Ah the Ernest way?"

"Mhm."

"Right. Ahem. I'll tell you again why I don't want anyone else puffy—"

"There's no need to keep reminding me I'm a whale, you know."

"Oh Amy, I don't do it for that reason. I do it because I want to remind you that we're having a baby."

That got him another fabulous laugh. "I'm not likely to forget about being pregnant."

"Ah, but you do keep forgetting how magnificent you are for having that _particular _baby."

"One of the last living Time Lords in existence?" she asked with a small smile.

He grinned down at her. "Exactly. Now as I was saying, the reason I don't want anyone else puffy," he took special care to rub her tummy for emphasis, "version of my Amelia Pond, is because I'm with you. And no matter what else you have in your clever ginger head, I'm with you. And I love you."

Amy happily nuzzled the curve of his neck.

He hummed in approval when he felt the press of kiss there, drawing his arm around her to rub up and down encouragingly.

"One more time?"

"I love you." It was coming so easily to him now.

"Once more."

"I love you." It was as easy as reciting prime ministers.

'"Hmm again please."

"I love you." Easy. As. Pie.

She sighed with that same shining smile. "Again?"

He chuckled. "As many times as you need."

Amy fell asleep like that, with the Doctor murmuring sweet I love you's to her.


	2. Stress

_Hallo wonderful internet peoples! I bring you the second chapter! I had some serious trouble with the Doctor's dialogue this time around so sorry it took a little while! Please please review! I would love to hear possible name suggestions for Mini Pond!_

_Mild warning: This chapter gets a bit...well, sexual. It's not explicit but if that's not your cup of tea skip the last sequence!_

_Oh and also, this chapter is dedicated to the lovely Val-Creative because she had a not so pleasant accident recently D: I put some sexiness in it just for you Val! I hope you enjoy~_

* * *

Chapter 2

I.

"…if you would keep your hand still this would progress a lot faster."

"Well maybe if you would _move_ a little bit faster, my muscles wouldn't be so tired and I _would _be able to hold still." Her Scottish cadence garnered a smile from him.

Amy huffed, a big production, and rolled her eyes. "I knew this was a bad idea, you have no idea what you're doing." A moment later she was grinning. "It's about time we found something you were rubbish at."

The tiny brush he held stroked carefully down the canvas of her fingernail, as the Doctor worked, balancing her right hand lightly in one of his.

Upon closer inspection, she found that the strokes were clean and left perfect lines of polish. Not a single bit of paint hit her skin.

Of course. She just had to open her big mouth.

_Him and Mary Poppins can go stuff it._

"Is there anything you _can't_ do?"

His deep chuckle made her stomach do a somersault.

"Hm. I don't recall. Maybe. It's very possible. But not likely—" And his distracted voice was definitely sexier than it should have been. "Oh! I'm rubbish at poker. I always mistake it for Go Fish."

She watched his tongue slide endearingly over his bottom lip as he painted. (His concentration face. It held a close second to Amy's favorite face: the over-excitement-for-something-science-y face.)

He grinned suddenly. Satisfaction. "Ah. Here we are!" Thumb complete, index finger was next. His hands were smooth as he worked, flawless with their movements, an artist painting a masterpiece.

"We'll have to play it some time."

"Go Fish?"

"Poker."

His forehead creased. "But I'm no good at it."

"Exactly." Amy said with a laugh, leaning forward to stick her tongue out. "It's also about time we found something that _I'm_ better at."

One of those little frowns that made him look like a twelve-year-old appeared on his face. His pouting definitely wasn't going to change her mind. Especially when it made him look so…

_Precious._

Soon he finished working on her right hand. Had just started on her left when she said, "So you're okay now?"

"Hm?"

"You're okay with this whole…pregnancy thing?"

The Doctor paused, brush hovering over a half painted fingernail.

Then he did something she didn't expect.

He gave her a small smile.

Only it wasn't…right. This smile lacked all the usual warmth that reached out and comforted her. It was weighted with more knowledge and pain than Amy had ever experienced in her short-by-comparison life. It was very wise and very old and very kind. The kind of smile only the Doctor, the last of his kind, could give her.

"Oh Amy," He murmured. "I am the king of 'okay'."

Her heart sank. "Sorry. Nevermind. Forget I said anything."

He gripped her thin wrist when she tried to withdraw. Blue drooped, shining with reluctance and just a touch of weariness. "No," He sighed, "Listen. There's something that I should probably...I have something I need to tell you."

She inhaled. Didn't exhale.

II.

When she stepped out onto the control room platform, she had only two things on her mind: Fish fingers and custard.

Turning on her slipper clad heel, Amy waddled down the secondary staircase to plop herself heavily onto the swing hanging under the console. "Alright TARDIS, level with me, on a scale of one to ten how unprepared for this baby is the Doctor?"

A chorus of beeps and a roll of colorful lights chimed above her in what she assumed was laughter. (Well that was a good sign). It was reminiscent of the birds she would hear back in Leadworth, chirping back and forth in playful conversation.

And then, he struck. Gripping her shoulders and shouting; "Gotcha!"

Not even a beat of silence.

She shrieked.

(It actually sort of caught him by surprise too. Whoops.)

Unfortunately, there were two things the Doctor didn't account for in his plot to harmlessly scare Amy Pond:

One: that her usual reaction to being surprised was now enhanced by a raging storm of hormones

and

two: how protective the TARDIS had gotten over this puffy version of Amelia Pond since their discovery of the pregnancy.

So the moment that Amy burst into tears, the TARDIS took it upon herself to reprimand him by electrifying the little bit of floor he was standing on. A shame-on-you shock.

He couldn't feel a single one of his toes, but tried his best to comfort Amy anyway.

The key word there being _tried._

"Oh Pond, don't cry—"

"DON'T YOU TELL ME NOT TO CRY. I AM HUGE AND HORMONAL AND MY FEET ARE KILLING ME. AND ON TOP OF ALL THAT I AM CARRYING A NEARLY EXSTINCT SPIECIES IN MY STOMACH. I'M LIKE A FREAKIN' LAB EXPERIMENT. SO IF I WANT TO CRY _TIME LORD_, I AM DAMN WELL GOING TO CRY!"

The Doctor had **literally **never been more terrified for his life than in that exact moment.

"Right." He only dared to whisper, "Sorry."

"You better be!" She sobbed.

Both his hearts cringed, squeezing his chest painfully.

Seeing his…his…whatever she was—_important_ _person_, this way hurt. Guilt weighed him down more than the gravity on Novis VI. (That was pretty damn heavy.)

"I mean. W-why would you even _think _scaring me would be funny?" The voice, the tears, everything about her right now _hurt._

_If I had known it would make you cry, I swear I wouldn't have done it, Pond._ He thought guiltily.

She sniffled. He felt a pang of shame when the sight registered as adorable rather than "very extremely not good". "You know your jokes are complete rubbish."

_Ahhh a feisty remark, there's my girl. _The child-like grin was back.

"First of all my jokes are spot on, and second, I wasn't trying to be funny," He amended, cupping her face to stroke the tears away with his thumbs. "For your information, Miss Pond, I was _trying _to induce labor."

That put her tears to a screeching halt.

"You were _what?"_ Her Scottish heritage couldn't resist chewing on the vowels in that question.

He chuckled partly at how funny her voice just sounded, but mostly at the incredulous stare she gave him. "What? Can't I get excited? Is that not allowed?"

Now she just looked surprised, both brows shooting straight up. He got the distinct feeling that perhaps he should start feeling insulted by her lack of faith in him.

Amy pursed her lips, sniffling out of reflex. "Sooo what you're saying is…you can't wait the normal amount of time so now you think you can somehow speed things along?"

"Exactly!"

She rolled her eyes. "Idiot. Just like a regular bloke, thinking he can take control of the pregnancy and speed things up. I think _you _have done quite enough, sir."

The Doctor scoffed. "I am definitely _not _a regular bloke." That was the only thing he heard? Of course. (Also just like a regular bloke to only hear what he wants to.)

"You sure act as ridiculous as one."

"I do not!"

"Oh you do _so, _and you know you do, Mr. Impatient. And you panic at the first sign of pregnancy trouble."

"Pfft. I'm the Doctor, _not_ a regular bloke. Of course I get _worried_ I don't panic—forget panicking. Panicking is _not cool_. The fact that you're pregnant at all is an anomaly all in itself—" He ignored her scowl. "The point is: I'm allowed to be as excited for Mini Pond's arrival as I want to be!"

Without much thought behind the action, she stroked her belly while he talked. A blink and his hands were there too.

"I'm entitled to my excitement aren't I, Starfish?"

"Starfish? Our child is absolutely not being referred to as a sea monkey." The-pregnant-lady frown. He never enjoyed getting that one.

"A sea monkey! Pond, don't call our child—our child I quite like that—anyway, do _not _compare our _Starfish_ to those water monkey cretins. Those are _completely_ different solar systems!"

Amy wanted to throw her arms up in exasperation. _Of course there are alien versions of ocean creatures. OF COURSE. Was nothing sacred in space? _"Where do these nicknames of yours even come from?"

The Doctor's smile was like warm hot-chocolate on a cold winter day. "They come from my own cleverness." He punctuated with a tap on her nose.

She snorted, "That is exactly the sort of thing a regular bloke would say."

"Hm?"

"Nothing, nothing. Don't worry about it, my little _Starfish," _Pinching his cheek to prove a point had never been more fun.

"Right. Now you've asked for it. I am going to tickle you until you beg me to stop."

"Oh, Doctor~" She purred with a soft giggle. "Your true colors are showing."

"You know what? Even if you beg I don't think I'll grant you the mercy of stopping."

Before she could reply, Amy Pond found herself being aggressively tickled by one of the last living Time Lords in existence.

III.

"And you're sure this is what you want?"

"How many times do I have to say it? Yesss."

"Alright, alright. But I'll have you know right now—I will not be roped into another midnight session scramble of running around for pregnant lady snacks tonight."

"Ooooh." She wasn't angry, wasn't even surprised. She suspected this side of him would come out eventually. _About time, _if she were being honest, it was more of a relief than anything else. He wasn't completely perfect. Thank God. "Are you Mr. Grumpy-Face today?"

Immediately, as if coming back to himself, the Doctor's irritation melted to guilt, and then he frowned. "Yes," He grumbled. "I am definitely Mr. Grumpy-Face today. I don't—" The exhaustion was clear in the small grey spots under his eyes, his sagging shoulders, his slow speech. "I don't really know _why _though."

_Poor thing. He's a regular bloke and he doesn't even know it._

"That's easy. You've got a pregnant lady in your time-traveling spaceship and she's driving you mad with all her…well, pregnant-ness."

From the edge of the bed, his blue eyes peered over his shoulder to meet her green ones, looking unbelievably disappointed. As if he should have come to that conclusion on his own.

"All right. That's it." With a great deal of effort on her part, Amy pushed through her fatigue and scooted herself down the length of the bed until she could reach out and touch him. He tried to turn, but her hands on his tweed covered shoulders and a quiet reprimand kept him facing away.

The protests didn't start until she reached around and started pulling his beloved jacket off. "Seeing as where this got us last time, perhaps this isn't the _best _course of action. I mean, you're gorgeous, Pond. Absolutely. I just don't see how us doing _that_ is going to help—"

"Oh hush. Listen to you, awfully smug. Assuming I always want to shag you."

"Don't you?" He got a soft smack on the back of the head for that one. At least he could still crack jokes. That was a good sign. (It would be even better if his jokes weren't so _terrible._) The jacket came off with little fuss after that.

He didn't whine again until she started sliding the braces off his shoulders. "Okay. Now hang on. I'm confused. You said that you didn't want…" Bless his unintentional prude-ness. "…to have an _encounter—"_

"Oh for heaven's sake! Just shut up and let me take your clothes off."

"Amy Pond! I knew it!" He turned to face her and she sighed in resignation, letting her hands fall to wait patiently in her lap. Briefly wondering how she was going to contend with taking care of not one, but two children. "I knew you wanted—errrgh!"

Amy favored this technique, the pinching of the cheeks, she knew it would come in handy someday soon. He flailed his arms around much in the same fashion he had the first time she had kissed him against the front doors of the TARDIS.

_What a little girl._

"Doctor, I'm still _trying _to be nice. If you keep this up, I'm likely to lose it, and you don't want that now, do you?" He shook his head. "Then be good and let me have my way with you."

With his braces removed and the tweed barrier gone, she now reached for the buttons of his shirt. He caught her wrist cautiously. "Oi. What did I just say?"

He grunted, the reluctant "I-don't-like-this-one-bit-Pond" noise. She promptly ignored it, and began slipping the little plastic buttons through their catches. The Doctor watched her warily, expecting this situation to turn sexual any moment now.

"Will you stop eyeing me like I'm the big bad wolf who's going to eat you?"

His head tilted back, offended. "If anything, _I _would be the big bad wolf."

Pink lips gave him a mocking smile. "Oh of course. You would be, if you ever actually _ate _anyone." She made sure to make the disappointment clear in her tone.

His buttons were all free of their stitch prisons, the cotton shirt now temptingly open. Her fingers slid underneath, climbing up his chest, over his shoulders, easing him out of another article of clothing.

"You shouldn't tempt me, Amelia."

_Aha! Result! Now he's cross. But alas, I'm on a mission here. Focus Pond! Focus!_ When had she started thinking of herself as Pond? Good grief. This man-alien was rubbing off on her in the worst of ways.

"As much as I'd love to. You're lucky, I'm not after that tonight."

That intrigued him, at least enough to let her man handle him enough to turn him around again. "What's all this then?"

"Shhh. Just trust me." She murmured into his ear, smirking at the tiny hitch in his breathing, then sat back on her haunches, put her hands on his shoulders, and began kneading.

Her thumbs pressed into the stretch of muscle in his neck, a pinprick of brief presses and releases, working the tension from him slowly.

The Doctor's groan rumbled deep within his chest, and Amy had to remind herself that she was a fully grown adult woman. She shouldn't be so affected by every little thing the man in front of her did.

(He had to actively restrain himself from turning around and ravishing her.)

"All right. Spill it. What's been going on with you? And please, do try to remember that I will face stomp you if you don't tell me the truth."

A particularly hard press to a tight cord of muscle.

He heaved a sigh to hide the puncture of pain he felt. An interrogation through massage? _Very clever, Pond. Very clever._ "You are a gorgeous, mad thing, you know that don't you?"

"Yes I do. And you're stalling. Get on with it." He was helpless against those magical fingers.

"Yes well," A small wince when she hit another knot in his neck. "I'm always worried about an infinite number of things. But lately, I find myself unable to—oh now we're talking. Just. A little. Lower—ahhh."

"You weren't nearly this vocal or as demanding when we were up against that console."

He could hear the satisfied smirk in her voice. "Don't you ruin this with your perverse language, Pond."

"Oh! How cheeky!" Finally! That stubborn bundle of tight muscle loosened. The Doctor moaned under her hands. (She really should have been blushing by now, and maybe she would have if all this noise he was making wasn't going straight to her ego.) "But do go on."

If there was one thing Amy learned from her time with the Doctor, it was that when he paused and got very, very still, he was about to say something profound. Deep and serious. It gave her the same feeling of the vast curiosity she felt when she gazed up at the stars.

Or it meant that he was about to rant his face off.

But she too stilled, waiting.

He twisted toward her, letting her hands slide over him as he turned. The look in his eye was troubling, only because she couldn't tell what the hell it _meant._

"I can't seem to stop worrying."

Her brow furrowed. "Worrying about what? The universe and all its problems? All the aliens running about causing mischief?"

When he didn't answer right away she knew something was wrong. She waited, ready to listen. He tensed again. She could feel it under her hands, his muscles clenching under some inner distress. His jaw locked. Frustration?

"No, no, no. Right now the universe and all its problems can just—I don't know, stuff it. Or something."

Amy pressed her lips together to keep herself from giggling. Clearly he was still upset, not the time for giggles.

"What I mean is…" And this is where the problem truly lay.

He stood up abruptly, half stiff, slightly relaxed, and began pacing in hurried, long strides, back and forth in front of their bed, to and fro. And he was talking like a mad man the entire time he moved.

"How can you even _be _pregnant? I mean I can't—I've checked! We are absolutely one hundred percent **not **compatible." Amy huffed, the Doctor amended. "Oh hush, you know what I mean. I don't know how this could have happened—I don't know _why _it happened—_I don't even know __**when **__it happened—_it just really _shouldn't _have happened." He made some of those weird hand gestures she never understood. "What if the baby comes out and it's some sort of, weird, freaky, space monkey?"

From her spot near the edge of the bed, Amy only had one thought: _I wonder if we've got any fish fingers and custard?_

"Well, I'd probably still love it anyway, because let's face it, I don't have a lot of options here and I'm a huge pushover. And I don't really care if it's a boy or a girl or some weird, freaky, space monkey. I just—what's even going to happen to _you? _No actually—don't even get me started on that. I can't process that right now." Amy was half sure he was speaking another language at this point, what with the sheer speed his words were melting together, but she sat still and tried to follow along anyway. He jerked a hand through his hair, said something so bad the TARDIS didn't translate it, continued in hurried English.

"I just don't want anything to happen to you because if it did I'd never forgive myself and I actually think that I might—"

He froze.

It gave Amy some time to process what the hell just happened.

"Oh."

Her brow furrowed again. "Oh?"

The Doctor looked at her and seemed surprised, as if just now realizing he had said all that out loud. "_Oh."_

"Oh." She echoed, slightly frowning. Still had no idea what he was on about.

Clapping his hands together, he swiveled around to approach the bed again and dropped next to her, looking quite satisfied with himself. Then he must have realized she wanted an explanation and looked stressed out all over again.

Amy was about ready to take a nap, solving Time Lord problems was exhausting. "I love you, but I have absolutely no idea what you were just on about."

"You do?"

He had a hard time understanding how she could feel that way. Especially about someone as unreliable and immature as himself.

"Do what?"

"Uh. Nothing. Nevermind."

"Are you okay?" Now _she _was getting worried, and that wouldn't do.

He inhaled, waited a beat, exhaled. He reached out and took both of her hands in his, placed them on his still bare chest to cover the expanse over both his hearts. They hammered madly inside his chest. Amy had never seen him so scared before.

"I honestly don't know. But I have never been _this_ worried about anything else in my entire life."

"Really?"

"I promise you, Amy. You are the most stressful woman I have ever had to deal with."

Touched, Amy leaned forward, and did something the Doctor had done to her so many times before. She kissed his forehead, pressing her forehead to his afterward to murmur, "You big old softie."

He chuckled.

"Pond?"

"Hm?"

"Gotcha."

IV.

An Oscar Wilde novel (really _the _Oscar Wilde novel) was propped open on his lap.

Amy was fresh from the pool and had started the (apparently) slow process of drying herself off, practically flaunting every asset she had at him. The brilliant hair, that pale skin, those endless legs.

It resulted in his doubled, and then tripled, efforts to stay focused on the pages in front of him.

The Doctor adjusted his glasses, _anything_ to distract himself from the red headed temptress across the room. Maybe _he _should go for a swim under the pretense of "just cooling off". His fingers gripped the edges of the novel just a bit tighter than necessary.

Amy caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and smirked. _Result._

"Doctor?"

"Hm?" He didn't look up. He couldn't, lest he let himself take in the sight of that incredibly blue, incredibly revealing, incredibly _tight _swimsuit of hers.

"What are you up to over there?"

"Nothing much. You know. Just reading." He tried to seem impassive.

Amy wasn't fooled for a moment. She let the now damp pink towel slip from her fingers, stepping closer to his spot on the couch. He wanted to tell her that pool users weren't allowed in the library section, especially when they were _that_ wet and _that_ tempting. But the protest died in his throat the moment she flipped that wall of red curls over one shoulder, winking at him in the light as they went.

The Doctor stiffened.

Amy was on the prowl.

Her tangerine claws stretched out, slipping over the pages decorated with beautiful words (he wasn't even reading the book anymore anyway) until she got a firm hold on his only excuse for ignoring her.

Oscar and all his pretty words went sailing over her shoulder as she leaned over her prey. Claws extending again, slipping first over one shoulder, then slid across the plane of his tweed and cotton covered chest.

"Amelia." A warning, feeble at best.

She had expected this. His token resistance. "Oh don't you _Amelia _me."

He shifted uncomfortably, trying in vain, to scoot away from her as if distance would help.

It didn't.

Amy Pond didn't let resistance and a little gap stop her. She leaned right across the empty chasm of reluctance and covered his mouth with hers.

He squeaked.

She grinned first against his lips, then tilted her head back to laugh. "What was _that_? Did you just squeak?"

The Doctor quickly reached up to adjust his glasses, again, unnecessarily, to give his itching hands something to do other than grab at the lithe body above him.

"No! It was—it was a manly noise of disapproval. Don't do that again."

"You didn't like it?"

"Not at all." _I loved it. Way more than I should have. And that's the problem._

"So you don't like when I kiss you?" It was certainly hard to concentrate on being a gentleman with her purring in his ear like that. Her chest a warm press against his, she was descending on him like a sheet of pure silk and strawberries.

Too quickly he said, "Nope."

"Not even a little bit?"

He swallowed, feeling that familiar itch in his fingertips to tangle in the damp streams of ruby spilling over her shoulders again, taunting him, curled in the most alluring of ways. "Not even a little bit."

"Mmm."

It took all of his self-control, and then some, to remain still when Amy's teeth grazed his ear. The Doctor highly doubted he could manage pushing her away at this point because the moment he touched her it would be game over.

How had it come to this?

She leaned back and heaved a sigh that didn't suit the devilish twinkle in her eye.

"Amelia. Please. Trust me," He was begging now and he wasn't ashamed of it. "You do **not **want me to—to…do _that _with you."

When had his naiveté become a turn on?

"Doctor. I'm practically naked and on top of you, I'm pretty sure I know what I want you to do to me." She tilted forward, showing off the benefits of a skimpy swimsuit. (A small part of him was ashamed of how fast his eyes fell to take in the sight.)

"Deal with it." She all but growled.

Despite his best efforts, first one hand was crawling up her thigh, then the other, and before he knew it he had pulled her down and over until she was straddling his lap, clutching at her hips as if she were the one holding him down.

"This is so very not good."

Amy looked mildly amused, lips pursing in mock thought. "Feels fine to me."

Somehow of their own accord, his hands were now cupping her face, thumb tenderly stroking her bottom lip. "This is such a mistake." He was half pulling her in, she half leaning forward.

"Probably." Amy breathed, the warmth of her breath dancing across his lips. _Teasing._

Her eyes fell closed. _So close._

"Amelia." He froze. "This—we can't."

She inwardly groaned. The Doctor was _literally _so close that the movement of his lips in that protest was practically a kiss. Frustration bubbled up in her stomach.

"Doctor. I don't know how much clearer I can be, but I'm likely to hurt you if you don't get on with it."

"But—"

Amy Pond may have been known for her patience in the past, but in that moment she wanted nothing more than to shut him up.

So she did. The best way she knew how.

He didn't resist as much as previously advertised. In fact, if anything he seemed relieved when their lips finally touched again.

Amy was flush against him. Her fingers tunneled through his hair, one of his hands at her lower back, pushing her further in, impossibly closer.

She moaned unabashed into the kiss. She wanted more. Had to have _more._ His tweed was itchy and scratched against her scantily clad skin. (A bikini didn't do much as far as skin protection went.)

Her need melted into his, moving their mouths smoothly together. The kiss evolved, grew hotter, _deeper_. And soon the tweed and braces were half off, hanging loosely from his shoulders. She finally managed to get the jacket all the way off when he leaned forward to accommodate her. His poor braces were subjected to her claws in her haste to get him undressed as quickly as possible. He gave a pleased hum at the feel of her nails dragging across his shoulders, barely skimming down his arms.

At one point, the Doctor was panting in her ear while she fingered the stubborn buttons of his shirt, losing her patience the moment his mouth dropped to kiss her neck. "Doctor I can't—can I just rip it off?"

"Nooo." He leaned back to frown at the very suggestion, as if she had just threaten to commit a heinous crime. "What did this shirt ever do to you?"

Her green eyes regarded the shirt begrudgingly. "Well right now, it's keeping me from _you_."

A momentary pause.

"All right but only if—"

Amy ripped the shirt open before he got the chance to finish, plastic buttons popping off, flying in all directions. He might have been cross if her eyes didn't darken considerably at the sight of his now exposed chest. "Only if I what?" Her voice was low, daring, challenging him to stop her now.

Since she looked about ready to devour him, he chose to let the loss of his shirt go. "Nevermind. As you were."

The bowtie would have been forgotten if it didn't contrast so brightly against the Doctor's pale skin. She removed _that _with her teeth, nails scraping over his collarbone as she worked, much to his near undoing.

His glasses got swiftly relocated to the floor somewhere between desperate kisses, Amy was quickly losing her patience to a lust filled greed to finally have him after all her "hard work". Her legs were now folded behind his waist, fingers carded through his hair, gripping a fistful just for the _feel _of it, and the groan he made only served to further encourage her. When his hands started stroking up her thighs to take hold of her hips again, she took that as a sign to move things along, dropping one of her hands to reach for his zipper.

The Doctor inhaled sharply the moment her fingers touched the tiny metal article, thrusting his head back in retreat and catching her wrist with blinding speed, she might have been stunned if the action hadn't brought her to a whole new level of frustration.

"Amy, Amy, Amy." Was he scolding her technique? _The nerve._ "We should really—I mean…I don't think it will be a problem biologically, but shouldn't you get one of those…Oh you know. What are they called? The important things humans use for intercourse?"

Amy tried to ignore his casual use of the word "intercourse" instead of just saying "sex". "What, a condom?" She thought it over.

Thought it over very carefully and yet still said something incredibly stupid: "No. I'm on the pill, it'll be fine. It's not like aliens can breed with humans anyway right?''

"Absolutely not."

xXx

And that is how a series of very extremely not good decisions led to their first "encounter". Which would give way to several more "encounters", which ultimately gave way to:

"No more, Amy I mean it. I've got work to do."

It was very distracting having Amy Pond sitting in his lap when she was only clad in a showy bra underneath one of his shirts, no pants, and some very flimsy panties. Very flimsy, very _blue _panties at that. _I don't know how she found out about my preference for that color but I suspect that somehow the TARDIS is involved. _

(He would quietly thank the old girl later when he didn't have this gorgeous red head on his lap.)

Amy was nibbling on his ear insistently, arms wrapped about his neck with her fingers playing with his hair, all trying to seduce him into another round of intimacy.

"You've already proven my resistance utterly useless several times over, Pond. I concede, you have defeated me. Rejoice in the victory."

Her lips found his cheek, then his nose, she tilted back and then grinned. "Aw, now was that so hard?"

"Yes. And if you don't let me escape pretty soon, we're going to end up getting caught in the middle of a particularly nasty nebula."

She sighed dramatically, but slid off him, ruffling his disheveled hair as she stood. The Doctor caught that hand, lowered it for a kiss, smiled against her soft skin.

"I don't know about letting you waltz about the TARDIS dressed that way."

"Oh? Will she be offended?"

"Probably."

The TARDIS gave a curt beep in annoyance.

The Doctor stood and pressed a kiss to Amy's cheek to mirror her earlier one.

She caught the back of his head before he could pull away and brought him back down to kiss him properly.

_Oh I am very fond of you Amelia Pond. But I mustn't touch, or I'll never get anything done._

"Pond," He tried after a few moments, hands hovering uselessly over her sides. And then he got his wish. Sort of. It was a bit more abruptly than he had expected. But—

Hang on.

One moment she was a lovely warm press against his body and the next, she was a flurry of red curls quickly retreating.

"Amy?"

The TARDIS gave another warning blare of protest, snapping him from his revere.

"Right. Of course. The nebula."

xXx

He found Amy, with the reluctant help of the TARDIS, throwing up her guts in a nearby bathroom. She looked to be in absolute agony. Her knuckles were almost blending in with the white porcelain rim of the toilet bowl.

And from the sea of thoughts swirling chaotically in his head:

_Are you alright?_

_Was it something you ate?_

_Is there anything I can do?_

_Do you need a hug?_

What he actually chose to say was: "How much did you _eat?"_

She scowled up at him from her spot on the bathroom floor, and rightly so. "The normal amount!"


	3. Uh-Oh

_You're going to have to bear with me in this chapter guys, there is quite a bit of jumping around. A LOT happens in this chapter so please, take your time if you need to! Anyway, I won't keep you! Don't forget to review even if you just feel like leaving a silly message or saying hi! Feel free to ask questions as well~_

* * *

I.

The ship gave a groan, metal shrieking as it propelled him out the front door with an invisible kick.

Stunned, covered in sand, and just a little bit offended, the Doctor glowered up at the TARDIS as it faded away. "What are you doing? This is no time for games!"

But she wasn't listening.

"This isn't necessary you know, I already said I would go check things out!"

But soon his beloved space ship, with his beloved companion still inside, was gone.

"Okay…" He stood up slowly, brushing grains of sand from his person, and looked from the empty spot where his ship once sat to the suddenly daunting valley of dunes and tombs behind him. _Since I don't have much of a choice, I guess I better go that way._

II.

"How about 'Jack'?"

"No! Absolutely not! Jacks are nothing but trouble and they never stop flirting with you or your mates. They defy all sense and reason. And even though he has an admittedly charming smile, he is just no good for you or any bad situation you're sure to get into while he's around. He's no good. No good. At all."

"So…that's a no on 'Jack' then?"

"Definitely."

"Were you speaking from personal experience by any chance?"

His sigh was so heavy it added another layer of air to the room. "Unfortunately, yes."

Both of her eyebrows shot up, clearly interested. "Oh? Will I ever get to meet him? He sounds like a good time." He could hear the grin in her voice, "Oh! He can be the fun uncle!"

The Doctor looked at her as if she had just suggested one of his mortal enemies be the babysitter, utterly horrified by the very idea. "He does not need to be anywhere _near_ our child, Pond."

She rolled her eyes, gently shaking those red curls back and forth. "Oh all right. It's your turn then."

The game of settling on a name other than "Mini Pond" had started the moment Amy started having what they deemed "false alarms". There was nothing like having a scary pregnant woman yelling at him to step on it ("There isn't any gas! I can't step on anything!" He'd say, she would only glare.) The TARDIS was of no help with the situation either, as every time Amy thought she may be going into labor all these alarms throughout the entire ship would go off, blaring with an absurd amount of insistence.

(It was like having that one relative around who panicked at the first sign of trouble and caused a ruckus, making sure everyone knew that there was a cause to panic. The Doctor didn't know how many more of these false alarms he could take. First he would panic, then get ahold of himself ("ahold" being applied very loosely), then he would get excited ("It's like Christmas!" He would say at Amy's hunched over form), then he would be disappointed when she straightened up and tiredly announced it was only a false alarm.)

Amy was now sitting among a mountain of pillows, blankets, and other soft things between his legs while he toyed with her hair. Her eyes fluttered closed. She loved the feel of his bony fingers stroking the hair from her face, brushing across her cheek, weaving her red strands into the most glorious of braids.

"Hmmm," he grinned then, as if some great idea had just dawned on him. "How about, Gandalf?"

Amelia Pond titled her head back to give him her best stern mother stare.

"What?"

"Guess."

His face scrunched in thought. "What's wrong with Gandalf?"

"This isn't bloody _Lord of the Rings_! None of that stuff even exists!" Was that keen disappointment? How could he resist?

"Don't be so sure. I haven't taken you everywhere yet." She saw a glint of promise in his eye as he chuckled above her.

She looked torn between the ideas of celebrating this new found discovery versus maintaining her serious demeanor to prove a point. "Let me ask you this then: is he going to be a wizard?"

"Pardon?"

"Is our kid going to come out magically endowed, as a wizard named Gandalf or Merlin should be?"

A touch of offense as he stiffly adjusted his bowtie. "Of course not! He'll be one hundred percent Time Lord!"

She held up her hands in a "my point proven" gesture.

He huffed. "All right. Your move then, Pond."

She didn't hesitate, "Lily?"

"Lily!" the Doctor looked like he liked the sound of that name for about five seconds before his face scrunched up as if he had just smelled something terrible. "Not Lily. It's too…generic."

"Generic? How can a baby name be generic? What does that even mean?"

"Lily sounds like you're trying to be clever and original and girly but the first thing everyone with that mindset thinks of is a flower name so it's really not that cool." He was getting the "you're stupid" face again, so he elaborated. "It just—well it just doesn't sound that...time ladyish."

"So that's a no on 'Lily' because it doesn't sound cool enough to you?"

"Basically."

"Oh we're never going to agree on something are we?"

III.

"Unbelievable!" the Doctor sounded incredibly fed up, grumbling unintelligibly as he suddenly turned in the doorway of the TARDIS to lift Amy in after him. Apparently her previous pace wasn't fast enough.

She gave a squeak in surprise, automatically gripping his shoulders when his arms wound around her, she was once again reminded of his deceptive strength.

"Absolutely unbelievable," he grumbled again.

A bundle of wrinkles appeared on Amy's forehead. "They can't help it, you said so yourself! They're scared and desperate. Pretty much like everyone else we come across on our adventures actually…" She didn't have time to reminisce because the moment she was safely aboard, she was herded into the nearest place to sit. The Doctor had gotten so fussy lately. Always wanting her to sit, monitoring what she ate, insisting she relax—god he was worse than her aunt Sharon.

In a very domesticated boyfriend manner: he fluffed and then adjusted and then re-fluffed and readjusted the pillows in the chair behind her.

Hang on.

_Was_ he her boyfriend? Boyfriend sounded too plain. Lover? Lover sounded so refined and classic and elegant and…not right for her and the Doctor at all. She definitely wasn't going to start using those synonyms for "boyfriend" terms just to sound fancy. They certainly weren't married or anything like that. Did Time Lords even get married? If they were, Amy didn't really see herself as the marrying kind. Was it some weird, freaky, space ritual type deal? No—actually scratch that. She'd rather not know.

He must have read the confusion in her expression, because he was suddenly chuckling again. "Pond, are you sitting there fussing about something silly?"

She was brought from her revere, "What? No. It's just…" The rest of that thought took a few moments to process. "What exactly are we, Doctor?"

The next several moments passed with extraordinary slowness. He seemed stuck, as if her question had completely derailed him. Judging by the way his mouth was now ajar, it probably had. His hands hovered between them, fingers twitching as if grasping at some thought or answer or solution to this abrupt turn in the conversation.

He closed his mouth. Waited a beat. Gave her a small smile. And then in a very Doctor like fashion, he changed the subject. "Aren't you going to ask what my problem with those people is?"

A twinge of disappointment, he could see it flicker across the green in her eyes.

Why did he always have to make things between them so difficult? She sighed, resigning to the hard truth: he wouldn't really be the Doctor if he sat down and talked about his feelings and worked out actual adult problems now would he? "What's your problem with those people?" She echoed, trying her best to remain uninterested.

She didn't succeed very well, and she could tell, because he was grinning the next moment.

"My problem, Amelia Pond, is that you humans can't seem to keep your hands to yourselves." He began, kneeling to start the process of working her shoes off. "You humans…" It was almost nostalgic, as if he were speaking of an old friend. "Every time you come across some ancient temple or burial ground or some object that might be cursed—basically anything you _really shouldn't touch_, what do you do? You touch it! Rather than leaving well enough alone you lot have always got to bloody _touch something. _Rule number three: don't touch anything. It's a rule for a reason." He paused. "Oh and that's rule number four."

"It's a rule for a reason?"

"Yep."

Amy rolled her eyes. He was using his "matter-of-fact" voice. The one he always used when he was scolding her, the human race, or when he was showing off how much random information he could retain.

But the lecture wasn't done. Oh no. "And if you should happen across a sealed room, it likely means that something very, very bad is behind that door. So _why in the name of sanity_, would you think," His voice went several octaves higher, "Oh look, a door that's been sealed for hundreds of years! Better grab the nearest tool to savagely pry it open so we can see what's inside!" His voice fell back to its original tone, "Disturbing things that were probably closed off for a good reason, nothing bad could _possibly _happen." He eyed the wall with distain.

Until that point, Amy had been doing a remarkable job of keeping a straight face. Her gentle laugh made the Doctor's irritated expression soften. "Do you feel this way about all humans?"

It was his turn to roll his eyes. He set the pair of baby blue Converse aside to peel off her socks, cracking a smile at the polka dot pattern. (The sight made his hearts swell). "As much as I'd like to say 'yes', there are a few exceptions to every case."

"Oh? Like who?" He didn't miss the suggestive hint in her tone.

"Well there was that nice fellow we met by the pyramid." He just chose not to acknowledge it.

"The hobo?"

"We don't know that he was homeless. This is Egypt! Maybe he was just taking a break." He gave her knee a gentle squeeze before he stood up, Converse and socks in hand. He ducked under the console for a few moments, then reappeared with a pair of slippers.

"You keep slippers under the console?"

"Well yeah. I keep all sorts of things under the console. Is that strange?"

"Kind of. I mean…how do they even fit under there? I thought it was all wires and mechanical parts."

"The TARDIS can travel throughout all of time and space. You don't think she can manage a few cubbies here and there?"

"Point taken."

They dabbled in several unimportant conversational topics, as part of their usual routine. Go somewhere new, explore for a bit until Amy got tired, retire to the TARDIS, rest a few days (the Doctor's orders), rinse and repeat. It was nice. It gave her some semblance of a regular life. Well…as regular as life ever really got with the Doctor. She didn't broach the topic of the group of people they had left outside again until he moved to take off.

"Wait. You're really just going to ignore this?"

"I told you, Pond. The only way we can help them is if we go down there. And we are _not_—I repeat—are **not** going anywhere near that place."

"Why not? You didn't even investigate, so how do you know it's that bad?"

She jumped a little when he swung around as if she had just insulted his beloved space ship. "_Why not?_ Look at yourself! Think about how impossible it is for that to be happening and how it's basically a miracle! You're an impossible miracle! And I don't know if you're aware of this Amelia Pond, but miracles do not happen around me very often. So when and if they finally do, I do everything in my power to make sure they don't get screwed up. _That_ is why not."

Oh no. He was having another one of his overprotective episodes. Feet now snuggly slipper-clad, Amy rose slowly and approached him. "Doctor…"

"No. No. I know that look. That look is never good news for me. It's the look you give me right before you trick me into doing something stupid. You humans are so good at making that guilty puppy face. Stop it."

For all his protests, he didn't resist when she took his face in her hands. "Doctor. Whether they're stupid or not, they're still just people. People that need your help."

"I'm not leaving you to go help some silly humans dig a hole."

"Oh stop. I'll be in the TARDIS, so I'll be fine. She won't let anything happen." The reasonable mother voice. How did she have that before the baby was even born? Her thumb stroking his cheek was a comfort, however small. The TARDIS gave a pleasant hum, as if she too were offering a small comfort. "Come on, Raggedy Man. You know better than that."

The Doctor had many skills, but being able to deny Amy Pond was not one of them (especially when she had turned his own space ship against him). With a heavy sigh he leaned forward, gently knocking her forehead with his. "Amelia Pond, you are going to be the end of me one of these days."

_Result._ She grinned, tilting back to press a kiss to his forehead. "Gotcha."

IV.

By the time the TARDIS finally landed and the world had righted itself again, Amy felt the familiar squeeze of nausea. Stumbling out the front door, she clutched at her flimsy stomach, with the Doctor hovering uselessly behind her.

"I don't understand how you could have gotten food poisoning," He glanced warily at his ship. "She's usually so good about getting food that isn't expired…Have you done something to upset her?"

Was he still going on about the TARDIS's grocery shopping protocols? "I don't think it was her fault. She was leaning on said spaceship for support. _Although I really wish it was her doing…_

"Then what?" His eyes raked down her body, specifically looking for any outward signs of anything wrong. She might have been disappointed by the lack of appreciation in his assessment if she didn't feel so sick. But the idea of his concern was nice. "Why do you keep getting sick?" He briefly dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out the sonic screwdriver to scan her for the eleventh time in a row.

"I told you, it's probably just a stomach bug. The flu or something like that."

That comment did a lot more harm than good. "Just a stomach bug!" And suddenly a crisis was upon them. The Doctor was a flurry of hurried, buzzing, green flashes of light, pacing around her at a dizzying speed. Okay. Maybe not the best way she could have phrased that, especially since the man with her was a nine hundred and seven year old worry wart who had seen just about every sickness in the book and then some.

Amy anchored him in front of her with a hand at the elbow. Still hunched and poised for a scan attack, he gave her a bewildered look, as if _she _were the one not acting accordingly here. A small bit of annoyance coiled in her belly, but it was quickly squashed by the next wave of nausea. "Stop freaking out. I think—I'm pretty sure I know what we have to do."

He straightened at the mention of a solution, proverbial dog ears perked up. "What do you propose then, Pond?"

"Well," Her green eyes took in their surroundings, the ship had landed right in the middle of a parking lot—which should surprise her but somehow _doesn't—_she recognized the convenience store almost immediately. Amy cast a brief glance at the wooden blue box. _You really do take us everywhere we need to go don't you?_ Then looked toward the store again, "What we'll need is in there."

The Doctor followed her gaze and then blanched. "What is _that?"_

She doesn't bother hiding her eye-roll. "It's called a 'convenience store'. Humans use them all the time."

It takes twenty minutes for her to explain in detail that not everyone is an alien with a space ship that magically—("It isn't magic, Pond! The ship has this sensor that reads each inhabitant's…blah-blah-blah,")—produces food and does the automatic grocery shopping. Humans did grocery shopping the manual way.

Another ten minutes later Amy stood alone in the middle of the toiletries isle. She felt frozen until the Doctor swung into the same eerily empty isle all long limbed and awkward, glowering down at the plain green basket hanging from one arm. He had this amazing ability to look frustrated and hilarious all at the same time. If she hadn't been desperately trying to come to grips with the situation she would have appreciated the sight.

V.

Two hours is how long it takes for the Doctor to find some semblance of life in that great big desert. The small group of so called "archaeologists" is huddled around the entrance to one of the great tombs in the Valley of Kings (he can tell by the feel of the ground beneath his feet). He can also guess through the process of elimination that he is most definitely somewhere with a ton of sand and dead people. Thus his first guess was naturally: Egypt.

These archaeologists (he had to actively suppress the urge to point and laugh at them) made him exceedingly uncomfortable. All he really wanted was for his TARDIS and his—whatever Amy was—to come back so he could leave all that heat and sand and all these daft archaeologists behind.

Regardless of the strange noises that were definitely coming from behind that sealed door ahead—no.

Hang on.

The group gasped when he suddenly dropped, pressing his ear to the ground, he held his breath and listened. There was sand in his hair, the tiny grains wiggling their way into the folds of his clothes, and there was definitely some stuck between the space of his lapels and his chest. He resisted the urge to obsessively brush himself off.

With a sudden jerk, he's sitting upright, earning another series of startled gasps from his audience.

"What is it?"

"Definitely movement. But why? Where's it coming from?" His voice dropped to a whisper, "What's down there?"

"The king's tomb?"

VI.

Amy's not quite sure how he manages nearly knocking over three shelves worth of toiletry products when he bends his arm awkwardly to beam the sonic at the obviously threatening plastic basket.

"Doctor." She hissed, straightening her tired frame.

"What?" He glanced up, an innocent party in this whole misunderstanding.

"What the hell are you doing?" She sighed, so beyond done with this situation.

"Just—you know. Checking that everything is in order?" He reminded Amy of a sweet little puppy who happened upon their owner at a bad time.

"Well stop." She doesn't intend to sound so…mean about it. Guilt weighed down her heart the moment the light in his eyes began to dim. The frown on her mouth was heavy and felt wrong. Especially in his presence. The sight of his shoulders slumping is what does her in. "I'm sorry. It's not…I'm not mad at you. It's—" and she can't believe she's really saying this, "it's just me."

He gave her a curious look, like he's not really getting it. She can tell by the way his forehead creases that he has absolutely no idea what she means but is trying his best to figure it out. Which is probably for the best.

"Right. So…" A subject change, that's also probably for the best. His blue eyes drifted to the daunting display of shelves in front of them. It's a conglomerate of bright colors, squares and rectangles, all in different sizes. "What are all those for?"

VII.

The Doctor gave him a look that must have shown annoyance because the short hedgehog of a young man shrinks back and slinks behind their leader—who might as well have dressed to teach a class at Oxford. The Doctor doesn't mean to sound so cross when he hushes the next suggestion before any one of them can ask it, "How long has this noise been going on?"

The leader, a tall well-built man (now that the Doctor was really actually looking at him) was the one to answer. "About three weeks now."

"Three weeks?" The Doctor stood in one fluid movement, ignoring the bits of sand sticking to him everywhere. It made him look just a little crazy—ruffled even. He could tell by the way the runt of the group was staring at him.

"Three weeks." Their leader confirmed.

"Three weeks?" The Doctor said it like the idea was insane.

Professor man, who up until this point has been the most composed, faltered. "That's—that's what I said. Is that bad?"

The professor flinched when the Time Lord gave him a slow, calculating look. He was really trying to quell the surge of annoyance in his belly. _Rule five: don't ask stupid questions. _"Bad? Do you think all that noise coming from underneath the ground—from the inside of an old Egyptian _tomb _is good news?"

The group looked impossibly more concerned. Whoops. He could have been nicer about that. He hadn't meant to make them panic. Oh well. They're archeologists. Who really cares?

VIII.

She exhaled noisily to get his attention.

He didn't notice at first.

So she cleared her throat.

Nope. He's still standing there like a twit beaming that bloody screwdriver at all the colorful boxes he can get his hands on. Amy felt like she could cry as she stood there with a mad man furiously scanning a bunch of different pregnancy tests.

"You do realize that the brand name doesn't have anything to do with how effective the tests are, right?"

"Oh hush up, Pond." He was still beaming away, using that "I know better than you voice."

After another ten minutes and she's had enough. "Doctor! Will you just pick one already?"

He evolved from scanning to examining, looking back and forth between a pink box and a blue one.

"I can't."

A groan.

It did nothing to speed things along. "Why?"

"Well this one," he flashed the pink box at her, "gives you results in three minutes and it has unsurpassed accuracy. But then there's this one," he switched to the blue box. "It's only 99 percent accurate but it still works in three minutes, and it even gives you the results in clear written out words! But then there's—" He picked up several more boxes for comparison.

He doesn't seem fazed by Amy's utterly blank stare. "What?"

"Just—" She worked really hard to stay calm. "…just pick one, please."

"There are so many choices! Besides it was your idea to bring me along."

_Yeah but I figured you'd be more distraught about the whole pregnancy possibility. Wait a minute. _"Why aren't you more…freaked out?"

"Hm? What do you mean?"

"Well this is pretty serious. Shouldn't you be flailing around and talking really fast about things, and saying words that are so bad the TARDIS wont translate them, and going on and on about Time Lord stuff that I don't understand?"

"Why would I do any of that? It's only a cold. You said so yourself. I never knew you could use these little sticks to figure that out though."

Amy gaped for a full minute before dissolving into laughter. "They don't—they're only _pregnancy tests _for god's sake! You don't use them to find out if you have a cold you numpty!"

His forehead crinkled, she had his attention again. "So what you're saying is…"

She tried her best to keep her giggles contained as the situation dawned on him. But she found herself frowning when he started chuckling because she could tell he didn't really get it. "You think you're pregnant?

Why was he smiling like that? As if the idea were insane?

"Oh Amy that's—" It was outright laughter now.

Her frown deepened. What was so funny? Pregnancy scares are meant to be _scary _not _funny. _She remained silent while he got ahold of himself. "That's just impossible!" The admission sent him into another fit of laughter.

"Is it?" Clearly he didn't notice the anger in her tone, only managing a "yes" in between low chuckles.

"Oh really?"

He was turning red in the face from lack of air. He barely had enough awareness to nod in response. If she weren't so mad she would have found the sight adorable. Now she only found it insulting.

Amy snatched the plastic basket from his feet, but he just kept laughing and grinning and grinning and reminding her once again how different they were.

Here she was, trying to make the best out of a terribly weird situation and there he was laughing at her. It gave her the same feelings as his "I'm an alien and therefore better because you silly humans don't know what you're doing" lectures did. Hurt. That was the feeling. She felt hurt. Did he think he was better just because he happened to be of some weird alien race?

With a speed that surprised even herself, Amy grabbed at the first five boxes on the nearest shelf and tossed them into the basket. Each box clattered loudly against the green plastic. She was tossing them in harder than she needed to.

That caught his attention.

The Doctor caught her elbow by the seventh box. "Have I upset you?"

Oh no. That sickly sweet honey tone was dripping into his voice. The voice he used whenever he was explaining something very, very simple to someone very, very stupid. A sharp stab of frustration cut through any left-over nausea. He just didn't _get it._

Amy glowered at him. Curious amusement shone in his eyes. She could tell he hadn't meant to be offensive. (He never _means _to be offensive. He's just the Doctor and the Doctor always offends at least one person a day). Her heart clenched, caught between anger and misery. "Just forget it."

The amusement faded, mouth turning down. That's just what she was afraid of. Now they're both upset.

"What's wrong?" He tried reeling her in for a hug, to comfort her, trying to show he cared.

She was tempted, oh so tempted, to resist. A part of her wanted to keep him at a distance, push him away, yell at him, tell him that they weren't children and he couldn't just glaze over their problems with a hug and a smile and not talk about serious things, and then she wanted to slap him really hard just once—but a much bigger, much more worn out part of her wanted to hug him so much more than all of that. She was tired, and young, and very worried and scared. The prospect of being pregnant with an _alien baby_—an alien baby that would end up being an endangered species and hunted by everyone and everything in the universe. And on top of all that she didn't even know what to make of her relationship with the Doctor—what did she really _mean_ to him anyway? What were they? If she were being honest with herself, which was a rarity in Amy's case, all she really wanted was nothing more than a hug from her Doctor. To have the feel of his arms around her waist, the soothing little circles he rubbed into her back, the gentle murmur in her ear.

So it may have been pathetic or childish, but the moment his arms wound around her she melted, sliding her own tired arms under his, pressing her ear to his tweed covered chest. The drumming of his dual heartbeats softened the hard anger in the pit of her stomach.

With a sigh she said, "Never mind. It isn't important." But it was. "You can just forget it." But she didn't want him to forget it.

What Amy really wanted was for him to sweep in and save the day, to solve everyone's problems like he always did. She just didn't know how to ask him for help.

In the checkout line he holds her hand.

Despite all the annoyances of the night, Amy found herself clinging to his arm, her fingers squeezing his, holding her breath when the teenage clerk began scanning the seven different pregnancy tests with a worried look. And despite what an oblivious idiot the Doctor can be she's glad he's there with her.

* * *

_Any questions yet? Will they ever agree on a name for Mini Pond? Is Mini Pond a boy or a girl? What the hell is going on in Egypt?! All will be answered in due time my lovelies! All in due time!_


	4. Indiana Doctor!

_Hiiiii._

_So here's chapter four. Uh sorry it took me a little while. We gots some serious probs in this chapter :0. Well I won't keep you! Feel free to leave any comments, questions, or concerns~_

* * *

"Is that a crack?" The runt, Dillon Van Camp or something over the top like that, was squinting at the large engraved door.

Upon closer inspection, he saw that the boy was telling the truth.

_Great. That's just what I need. A crack in my door. Because I haven't had __**enough **__trouble with cracks in the universe threatening to tear the time stream apart. _The Doctor nudged the boy aside none too gently to get a closer look. His eyes tracked the crack up and up and up. He glowered at the door as if it were cracking itself just to insult him, waited a moment, turned his sour gaze on his temporary_ (very temporary) _companion. "What's your name again?"

"Dillon, sir. Dillon Van Camp." Yep. It was still ridiculous the second time around.

_Is everyone around here completely inept?_ Oh that was rude. He was back to being rude. That wasn't a good sign. He pushed away the negativity as best as he could, but found it difficult without Amy there. _Amy in all her impossible, red headed glory_—no. He had to focus. Focus on the problem at hand. There was a _crack _in the wall staring right at him. "Are you a smart man then? With a name like that you ought to be."

"Excuse me?"

"Do you or do you not possess any semblance of _intelligence, _Dillon?"

Dillon looked a bit miffed, but reluctantly answered. "I suppose so…"

"You can't suppose about smarts. You either have them or you don't. So which is it?"

"I-I do then! I have smarts."

The Doctor softened, grinning though the effort it took clearly showed. "Great! Do me a favor then, would you?"

"Sure?"

"Do not touch that crack. Or anything on that door. Don't even look at the door. In fact, don't you have a professor to report back to about what a terrible mistake you've all made?"

"Um. I don't think I follow that last bit, sir."

The Doctor sighed heavily. He wasn't normally this cross. Wasn't a fan of being cross in general. But archeologists were a difficult bunch. It was like someone took a human's natural curiosity and penchant for mishap, tripled it, and then created _the archeologist. _ "Just…don't touch the door. Are we clear?"

"Y-yes sir."

The boy flinched when the Time Lord moved to pat his shoulder with an unkind smile. "Good man." He said, but somehow, Dillon could tell the compliment wasn't quite genuine.

II.

Back on the TARDIS, Amy was left to her thoughts. She found herself thinking about one of her favorite nights before all the stress came along. Her hand drifted over the rise of her stomach absently, as the memory came back to her in full detail.

/ He had been giddy all day (Amy would like to think the giddiness was a side effect of their recent "encounters" but there was no real way to tell with him.)

She watched him flit about the room. It was a cozy little reading nook somewhere between their bedrooms, a place to meet in the middle. He was going on about Egypt and all its history—all the trouble he had gotten into there. Amy loved nights like this. Where the Doctor was happy and bouncy and talkative. He would go on for hours talking about his adventures. Happy. Seeing him truly carefree and happy was a rare event. But to her deep satisfaction, was an event that was slowly becoming more frequent as they spent more and more time together. Sitting, talking, listening. Together.

Lately, he had taken to following her back to her room. He would talk through just about anything she did. If he weren't so damn attractive and adorable when he spoke so enthusiastically she might have shooed him off.

"And the hieroglyphs! OH! _The hieroglyphs, Amy."_

She laughed, grinning at him through the mirror as she brushed out her long hair. And she didn't miss the twinkle of envy in his eye as he watched her, but he tried his best to hide it as he talked. There were several times he had to pause in his musing so that she could get through brushing her teeth without laughing all of her toothpaste out of her mouth.

When she was finished she turned to face him, cheeks beginning to hurt from all manner of smiling.

"I like you like this."

She tilted her head to the side, pursing her pink lips. "Like what?"

Amy practically purred when cupped her cheek. "I like seeing you so…happy."

He traced a gentle pattern on her cheek with his fingers, delicately tracing the line of her jaw, slipping under her chin to tilt her head up for a sweet and minty kiss.

She grinned again against his mouth. "I like you like _this_."

He returned the smile easily. "Like what?"

"So physically affectionate."

The Doctor tilted his head back, looking amused. His fingers traced down her neck, dancing around, slowly sliding down her shoulder with a feather light touch. The other hand soon joined in to outline her sides. They slid down, down, down until they cupped her hips. Her smile eased into a smirk. His lips ghosted against her ear, barely kissing the skin there in a gentle but tortuous tease. She shivered when he spoke, his voice a low whisper. "Well of course. I like your body very, very much. Why wouldn't I touch it?"

She whined when he leaned away again, arms looping around his neck in an effort to bring him back in. "What's so fascinating about my body, then?" The smirk was back in full force. "Do you have a favorite part?" A poorly disguised attempt to turn him on? Sure. Was it effective?

Of course. This was Amelia Pond after all.

The result was instantaneous. As if a switch had been flipped, his pupils darkened. The hands at her hips squeezed her, a sign of gratitude for giving him permission, before eagerly resuming their exploration. His hands roved up and down, teasing, taunting, driving her wild.

"My _favorite _part of you?" Thank god she had chosen her nightie to wear tonight. The thin white dress hardly shielded her from the searing heat of his hands as they roamed. She gasped and suddenly his fingers were back to gripping her hips, almost desperately, lifting her off the ground with surprising ease. Her legs folded behind his waist, pulling them ever closer, and she locked her arms in place, leaning up to capture his lips.

There was no thought. No doubt. Just him and her and their sense of _togetherness. _

The grin against her lips was so smug it's a wonder she wasn't put off by it.

They were moving—_he_ was moving them backward or forward (she couldn't really tell) with her pressed tightly against him. He backed them up to perch her neatly on the counter top. Good thing she wasn't keen on bathroom supplies, because she didn't have to wait for him to shove anything aside to make room for her on the white marble top. She shuddered at the cold press underneath her. Her cherry red nails combed through his hair. He groaned in approval and she whined insistently in response.

The Doctor was criminally good at pacing himself. How he wasn't panting by the time they parted for air was beyond her—she might have been annoyed if she hadn't locked eyes with him the moment he leaned back. The blue in his eyes was completely blacked out. _Hungry._ She shuddered again when those starving eyes raked over her body. "Hmmm. Let's see, shall we?"

Amy could only nod dumbly, every other part of her numb with anticipation. And then he ravished her with kisses.

She purred, nails scraping against his skull, urging him on. One moment his lips were moving smoothly against hers, sending her mind reeling into a pleasure filled haze and the next they were pressed against her ear. Hot breath teasing, she could feel his grin against her skin when she shuddered against him. "Can I only pick one?"

When did he learn to tease her like this? If he didn't hurry things along she was going to start tearing clothes off. And how could she focus on answering him when his hands were hell bent on groping and tracing and _kneading _the intimate parts of her? A steady tingle of warm arousal was spreading from her the tips of her toes all the way to the top her pretty red head.

"Well…" He continued without a response, as if contemplating over what to have for dinner. "If I have to choose only one…" The Doctor sighed, reluctantly leaning back and chuckling at the horror in Amy's sudden expression.

A few beats of silence.

She panted. He continued waiting, watching her growing discomfort. She frowned, growling at him, digging in her nails at the back of his neck to pull him back in. Until finally, finally he decided on a course and pounced./

III.

It was a good thing Amy wasn't present. She would have been so disappointed with his behavior.

To be fair, these archeologists had to be barking mad to want to break into an ancient Egyptian tomb. A tomb that occasionally produced a very large, very _not good sounding _amount of noise. So of course his behavior wasn't at its finest.

_(Then again if Amy were here she would insist that he didn't really have any excuse to act like this. He should just suck it up and act his age.) _

The little voice in his head that was Amy gave him a small comfort. At least he still had some measure of reason in her absence.

They were doing it again. Crowding around the door, making it impossible for him to think. Ever since they had discovered that crack the group has been a buzzing bunch of pests. Did he just have a face no one listened to? _Again?_

He missed Amy. He really did. From several feet back the Doctor watched as the bumbling group in front of him made no progress.

That's when he looked at the engravings. _Really _looked at them. They danced around the edges of the giant slab of a door, swirling and curving, spelling out a message.

"Hang on. Everybody stop what you're doing!" The group froze. He took two steps forward and stopped. Slowly the engravings became clearer and clearer, unwinding, stretching into a language he recognized. The more he stared, the more he understood. "There's…a process to open that door."

"What? What do you mean?" Mr. Cobb, their leader, emerged from the little crowd. "How do you know that?"

"Those engravings—it's a message."

"They don't look like any hieroglyphics I've ever seen." The archaeologist glanced behind him, clearly skeptical. The Doctor hated that look. It usually came right before someone did something really stupid.

_That's because they aren't._ "Well they aren't exactly…" He frowned. Why were they so difficult to read? There were a number of written and spoken languages he had no trouble understanding. But every time he tried to focus, to _really focus, _to decipher the message his mind slowed, slurring the message together in a blur of incoherence. Into just a jumble of lines and swirls."A perception filter?"

"A what?"

"Perception filter. Keeps you from really _noticing _things."

Mr. Cobb squinted, turning his gaze to the Doctor one moment, then back to the stubborn door. "What kind of things?"

_Alien kind of things. _The Doctor shoved a hand in his jacket, palming the sonic screwdriver and immediately set about scanning the engravings from a distance. The device gave a familiar buzz, with flashes of green as he scanned, paused, read the results, scanned some more.

The last reading made him chuckle. Mr. Cobb perked up. "What is it?"

"Of course. Because a simple case of Egyptian mummies would have been too easy."

The confounded look Mr. Cobb gave him made him chuckle again

IV.

_/ He can't be real. _ He just couldn't be real. No one should be able to make her squirm so much with just a simple kiss. But the Doctor's kisses weren't simple. They were hot presses of pure hunger. Along her jaw, passed her ear, at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and it drove her absolutely mad. Her own want surged up within her as she began mercilessly clawing at the buttons of his shirt. Thank god he wasn't wearing that blasted jacket—

Her sudden whine of panic earned her another chuckle. But Amy saw nothing funny in these periodic losses of his mouth on her body. He smiled against her cotton covered shoulder. Everything had stopped when he caught her wrist, stalling her efforts to get his clothes off.

"Oh now what is it?" She was no longer in the mood to be teased. Her body ached for his touch in the most intimate and familiar ways. It's his own fault for being too damn good at...well— /

She was rudely awakened from her dream by the TARDIS. The ship none too kindly was blaring one of her alarms, jarring a sleepy Amy to sit up. The noise of surprise she made couldn't have been very attractive. "What the…?"

V.

"So what you're saying is, there's some sort of weird…filter on that door to keep us from finding out what those hieroglyphics really say?" Mr. Cobb stood to his right and Dillon, who was looking as equally perplexed, was to his left.

"What I'm saying is...I don't know if what we're looking at is a _real door _at all. This might not be the entrance. Maybe it's a false one to keep people out. Which might explain why you haven't been able to open it. This door isn't _meant _to be opened. The real question is _why _build a false door? What's down there? And where's the real entrance? They had to get the king's body in there somehow…along with whatever else they seem so determined to keep hidden."

"Well there has to be something down there. Otherwise where would all that noise be coming from?" Mr. Cobb had a point.

_Damn. I hate agreeing with archaeologists. _The Doctor lapsed into silence.

"What if…" Dillon began hesitantly, suddenly nervous now that he had both the Doctor's and Mr. Cobb's attention. He swallowed before continuing. "What if…this is a test?"

The older men stared at him, the Doctor more curiously so than his boss. It took a few moments of silence for Dillon to work up the courage to speak again. "What I mean is, whoever built this tomb obviously knew—or hoped it wouldn't be disturbed. Or maybe they did. They might have figured that someone would eventually come along and see what was inside the king's tomb. So they hid something in there with him that was very important. Like an heirloom or artwork or—"

"Treasure?" Todd, a young man a few years Dillon's elder chimed in from behind them. The Doctor didn't have much confidence instilled in this one. He seemed like the treasure hunter type disguised as something harmless. He was tall and thick, like a soldier turned mercenary. He had trouble written all over him. "Maybe someone else is already down there."

Dillon looked to Mr. Cobb for guidance. The professor cleared his throat before steering the conversation back toward the Doctor. "We'll never know if we don't get in there. So what do you think we should do? There has to be an entrance if someone has already gotten in. I just hope they don't make a mess of the place."

Both the Time Lord's brows shot up. "What, you mean me?" This was a first. A group of human beings actually seeking and maybe even _listening _to his advice.

Mr. Cobb nodded as if that were obvious. "You seem to know what you're talking about. I'm willing to put my trust in you."

The Doctor stared at the man, dumbfounded. Perhaps not all archaeologists were as bad as he originally thought. He didn't have time to dwell on this epiphany however, as two of the lesser grunts had decided to busy themselves by prodding at the crack in the door. "Hey! You lot!"

The two archaeologists poised at the door jumped in surprise. One of them caught with their hand literally in the cracked cookie jar—Mason his name was. Mason and…Richard! Richard stood to the other boy's right. Both looked sheepishly at each other and then back at the Doctor as if they were about to be sent to their rooms.

"Didn't you hear me scolding Dillon earlier?"

"But, sir! It looks like something is stuck in here. Some sort of button. Maybe it will open the door!" Mason wasn't removing his arm. That wasn't good. "I can almost reach it."

"No! Haven't you been listening? Whatever you do…" The Doctor began pacing over, Dillon and Mr. Cobb scurrying along after him. "Do NOT touch that—"

The tomb answered before he could finish. Ground and rock shook, vibrating and rumbling. That definitely wasn't a good sign. A shriek cut through the dense sound of the earth groaning.

The next thing the Doctor knew, his entire balance was thrown off—he was looking at the ceiling as it grew smaller and smaller. The sensation of his stomach flopping hit him and it finally registered. He was falling. Weightless, disoriented, and just a tad panicked, he heard the fear set in above him and he continued falling down, down, down. It felt like ages.

He met the bottom of the pit all too quickly. His head cracked against the cold stone, vision blown white before blackness began creeping in around the edges. He just barely heard Dillon yelling beside him over all the chaos. Had he fallen too? Numbness set in just as black had completely overtaken him.

His consciousness faded and then there was nothing but silence.

VI.

She made her way to the console room. Growing grumpier the longer the ship continued yelling about some emergency.

"Oh what is it? What are you shouting about?"

Once she stopped in front of the main console, a computer monitor swung in her direction, stopping just in front of her face. What could have the ship in such a panic? She blinked the sleep from her eyes, getting a hand on the bottom of the screen to adjust the monitor.

"Well that doesn't make any sense. What is that supposed to mean?"

She could feel a roll of annoyance as a group of lights to her left dimmed and then brightened in exasperation.

"Oh don't you sass me. I was having a perfectly good dream before you woke me up."

The entire room abruptly shook, forcing Amy to grip the railing in front of her to keep from being tossed about the room. Her feet would have been sliding around with all the jostling going on if it weren't for her slippers. It was as if someone was juggling the entire ship. The field of gravity was the only thing keeping her to the ground when the entire ship flipped over.

"What, are we in the middle of a meteor shower? WHERE DID YOU PARK US? WHERE'S THE BLOODY STEERING WHEEL?"

The cap covering a button to her right popped off. And at the ships insistence, (or at least from what Amy could tell with all the beeps, flashing lights, and alarms going off all at once) she slammed the side of her fist down and prayed the ship would right itself.

VII.

Darkness.

Enveloping, consuming, _heavy _darkness.

The first thing his saw was nothing at all. Then he focused, waited for his head to stop throbbing. Eventually, his eyes caught the flecks of light in the air and the Doctor squinted up at the long stretch of light visible above the crack he had just fallen through.

A soft whimpering to his left caught his attention.

"Dillon?"

"Y-yes, sir?"

_Great. Of all the people to fall down with me…well the kid isn't too bad. At least that mad professor isn't down here too. That would have been—_

"Doctor! The Earth seems to have swallowed us whole!"

_Too easy I suppose._

The Time Lord sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The other members of the group peered down at them. "Mr. Cobb, are you all right?"

"Yes. We're all fine. Right as rain!"

The Doctor mentally gagged. _Who __**talked**__ like that?_

"Shouldn't we try to find a way out of here?" Dillon ventured. Proving once again to be the only of the daft group the Doctor could tolerate.

"Excellent point, Dillon! Glad to see you were right about the smarts!" He clapped his hands together and finally in his surroundings. The tomb gave another shudder as if warning them not to make another wrong move.

"Any idea what happened?" From what he could tell, Mr. Cobb was dusting himself off as he stood.

"It seems like that might have been a test." His head had settled on a dull throb.

"Did we fail?"

"Well…" The Doctor stood on shaky legs, leaning on the nearest wall for support. "That depends on how you look at failing. On the one hand we finally got into another part of the tomb." He turned to place both hands on the wall to feel his way a long it, trying to find another button. Though from their last experience with a button he wasn't sure he wanted to press it.

"On the other hand we fell through a giant crack in the floor and the tomb may be crumbling as we speak. You can choose to look at the situation any way you want to." He grinned when he heard the other man sigh.

"Uh…How would you categorize finding a hidden passageway?" Dillon's voice came from ahead of him.

"I'd say that counts as a passing grade. A 'C' at least. Why?"

"Because I think we may have passed our test."

VIII.

By the time the TARDIS had returned to its full and upright position, Amy felt ready to throw up. "I'm too pregnant for this…" She sighed, slumping over the console.

The monitor swung back into her view, with what she assumed was a status report. "Never mind that. What the hell just happened?"

A moment of silence.

Was the ship actually…embarrassed?

Amy let out a tired laugh. "Don't worry old girl. It happens to the best of us." She pushed herself up. Now that the crisis was averted, she was going back to bed.

But the ship was having none of that. All eight entrances into the ships control room sealed, metal doors slamming down to close off her exit. "Uh what was that? What are you doing?" She turned back to the console and began pressing buttons, seeing if any of them were useful. "Have you gone rogue or something?" The monitor by her side switched over to a diagram of the ship. A room in the far south end of the ship flashed red.

"Is that…an intruder?"

An automated voice chimed in above her.

"_Emergency protocol 14 activated. In the case of an intruder and in the absence of the pilot, companions will be sealed in the control room for their safety and for the safety of this vessel. Containment field activating."_

"What the hell is a containment field?" Amy sighed as the ship offered no answer. "Of course. The one time you choose to actually speak to me and its to tell me your locking me up. Fantastic."

* * *

_GASP! SOMEONE HAS BROKEN INTO THE TARDIS! OH NOOOOOOOOOES! Who could it be? What will the Doctor and company find within the tomb walls? Tune in next time folks!_


End file.
